


some things you never grow out of

by dytabytes



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Father-Son Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 00:32:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8306936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dytabytes/pseuds/dytabytes
Summary: Alexander Hamilton takes Philip on long car rides to nowhere to get him to sleep.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chrome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrome/gifts).
  * Inspired by [i'll make the world (safe and sound for you)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5380469) by [Chrome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrome/pseuds/Chrome). 



> This was written approximately a billion years ago, and has finally made it over to AO3. Woop woop? 
> 
> Inspired by that one verse in [Tear in My Heart](https://youtu.be/nky4me4NP70?t=1m19s) by twenty one pilots which echoes that one line in [One Last Ride](https://youtu.be/s83TPXhjUvM?t=2m49s) really too well. If you've heard the songs, you know the one c:

It is three in the morning in Washington, DC, and winter has a vise grip on the city. Most have holed up inside their homes, out of the way of the biting wind, and the streets are empty but for a single car that is puttering around in aimless loops. 

Alexander Hamilton has no destination in mind; the point of this drive is the journey. His son is teething, and Philip’s complaints about his condition have been loud and unending. He takes after his father that way.

Despite their best efforts to comfort their son, Philip's cries have kept both Alexander and Eliza up at all hours of the night, leaving them drawn and wan and desperate. In a last ditch Hail Mary, Eliza had bundled their son into his warmest onesie and dropped him into his father’s arms. 

“The only time he ever sleeps is when we’re driving. Maybe that will work?” 

Ever her obedient servant, Alexander had taken his crying son, sent his exhausted wife to bed, and started the car.

He’s been driving for about an hour now. There are worse duties for a father to undertake, he thinks. There’s a strange beauty to the way the bare branches of the trees stretch up into the sky, cutting through the warm glow of the streetlamps. More than that, Philip is quiet. His breathing is a little raspy, and he’s drooling around the fist jammed into his mouth, but he’s sleeping, and it’s such a relief. There is nothing that pierces Alexander’s heart more acutely than his son’s distress.

Rolling sedately through the abandoned roadways, Alexander feels safe to brush his knuckles over the thin curls that are sweat-matted to his son’s forehead.

“You’re gonna blow us all away, kiddo. Just you wait.”

Absorbed in his son’s fine features, he neglects to note the pothole right in the middle of the road. The resulting KER-THUNK makes both his undercarriage and his son shriek.

As he pulls over, frantically trying to calm Philip's wailing, Alexander promises himself that he’s going to use his position to make the roads more secure. What else does he pay his fucking taxes for? 

* * *

Almost eighteen years later, Alexander and his car are navigating the same empty streets at dark o’clock. The trees are a little bigger, but they filter the streetlights just the same. Philip’s bigger too, actually, but the reason why they’re driving is less mundane than it was when he was a child. The sling holding his arm to his chest is evidence of that.

His son was shot. 

Alexander is still processing that, will probably never quite come to terms with that, because there are times when he looks at Philip and instead of a young man, he sees a chubby cheeked toddler with his hands raised in the air. 

“Daddy! Daddy, look!”

The juxtaposition of his child and of some person making the conscious decision to shoot his child… it just doesn’t quite click together. It’s trying to put your shoes on the wrong feet, or shoving your house key into the mailbox. His brain mutinies against the connection even as it’s made.

He’d rather think about Philip’s health.

His son is slumped against the window, sleeping peacefully as he’s always done in the front seat of the car. As he watches, a strand of hair falls down into Philip’s face. Alexander’s nose scrunches in sympathy. He glances at the road, which is just as empty as ever, and reaches out to tuck the offending lock out of the way. It’ll be quick, he’ll have eyes back on the road in no time.

THUNK.

The inevitable pothole, once hidden by the snow, decides to teach him a lesson.

“Dad? We home yet?” Philip mumbles as he wakes. He tries to rub his eyes and winces when he moves. “Ow…”

“Shhh, no, not yet.” Alexander pats his son’s leg as he tries to navigate the road. “Go back to sleep.”

Philip mumbles, “Kay”, eyes falling shut, while Alexander growls under his breath. “I swear to god, I'm not the kind of person to text and drive, but when I get home I'm fucking blowing up Twitter like nobody's business what the fuck is up with the state of infrastructure in this goddamn state, what am I even paying my fucking taxes for-”

He’d forgotten that this route took them through construction.

Alexander whips his arm out protectively, uselessly, in front of his son as they thud over the stretch of rough terrain.

“F-fuck.” Even in the darkness, Alexander can see that his son is several shades paler than he was, and starting to hyperventilate. “Dad, I. Stop the car.”

They’re over on the shoulder as fast as possible. Alexander mashes the hazard button, and white-knuckles the steering wheel for about five seconds as Philip gasps and tries to get his breathing under control.

He finds that, as a father, he can’t just sit and do nothing. He tries to lean towards his son, then growls as he almost impales himself on the stick shift. 

“Fuck it.”

He leaps out the driver’s side door.

“Dad what are you-?” Philip cuts off when his shouting jars something, and he curls in on himself with a high whine.

Cold air gusts in as the passenger-side door is opened and Alexander pushes his way into Philip’s personal space. 

“Shhhhh. Geez, let me hug you.”

Philip laughs weakly, scrubbing at his face in a way that in no way hides the wetness of his cheeks. 

“You don’t have to do this, Dad. I'm not a baby who needs constant comforting.”

Alexander shakes his head. “No, I really do have to do exactly this. Don't tell a man not to hold his son.”

“Your butt’s gonna freeze, hanging out in the wind. You hate being cold.” 

“If my rear freezes, that's it's own damn fault. You're more important to me than the comfort of my ass, kiddo.”

Something about the way his father says that, the utter conviction in his voice, destroys Philip’s attempts to keep from crying. 

“Dad…” 

“Shhh.” Alexander brushes his knuckles over Philip’s cheek, hushing him with the same gentle tones he'd used years ago to calm him as a toddler. “You might not be a baby, but you're always gonna be my little boy.”

He swallows around the lump in his throat and presses a kiss to his son's temple. 

“I love you so damn much.”

With his good arm, Philip squeezes his father's shoulders, holding on tight.

“Love you too, Pops.”

They stay like that for a long time, listening to each other breathe as the snow blows around outside, until Philip sniffles, loud and wet. 

Alexander pulls a tissue out of his coat pocket, because when you become a Dad, you start stuffing tissues into every pocket in case of emergencies and the habit never goes away. He holds it against Philip’s face. “Blow.”

And Philip does, instinctively, because that’s just what you do when your father is holding a tissue up to your runny nose. 

“There we go.” The now-filthy thing goes back into Alexander’s pocket, because he has reached Full On Dad Mode. “Now you're handsome again. My handsome boy. With a face like that, no wonder you’ve got a cute girlfriend."

"Dad!" Philip pushes at his father’s chest, laughing. “Stop that!”

"Oh come on, I can’t talk to you about girls now? I thought I was the Cool Parent!" But he backs away from Philip and shuts the door to move around to the other side of the car. 

As Alexander pulls open the driver’s side door, Philip says, “Dad, neither you nor Mom are the Cool Parent. I don’t have a Cool Parent.”

“I am wounded!” Alexander clutches a hand to his chest as he sits, then his eyes bulge and he actually clutches his chest. “Oh fuck.”

“Are you okay?”

“No. My ass is covered in snow, and I just sat on it. It’s crunchy and wet and easily the most disgusting sensation that I’ve ever had the displeasure of experiencing and we’re moving on.” Alexander shuts his eyes and clasps his hands together in front of his face as he takes a deep breath in and out. “It’s okay. We’re okay. We’re going home.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Philip smiles as he settles himself back in his seat, because his Dad is freaking out about something inconsequential, and that means that everything is back to normal. “Home.”

They pull back onto the road, and Philip murmurs,“If I did have a cool anyone, it’d be Aunt Angelica.”

“.... Point.”


End file.
